Page 3 of All the Drama from New York

Bryce sighed once more. “Edward doesn’t want me to get caught in the middle of a fight between you and François. But…”

“But what?”

A wry grin appeared on her cousin’s face. He pointed to the stack of papers which sat on a nearby coffee table. “Dad says that if you and I have already signed off on our business discussions and a final investment contract is in place, there isn’t much your father can do about it.”

Which means he can’t make me go home.

No one else in the Royal family had known that for some time now, Camille and Bryce had been working on an agreement for him to invest in her fledgling US based fashion design venture. Last Christmas, under the swaying palm trees of the private family retreat in Turks and Caicos, the two cousins had hatched a secret plan. If American born Bryce invested in the new business venture, then Camille as a French citizen would be able to access a working visa for the USA.

None of this sneaking around had sat well with her, she hated keeping things from her family. But her father’s incensed reaction when he’d finally discovered Camille designs had only served to confirm her long held fears. He’d made it plain that as far as he was concerned anything Camille did which went outside the boundaries of his strict myopic view of the world of fashion would never be good enough. In his eyes, her leaving was the ultimate betrayal.

Why can’t Papa understand that I don’t want to work in his haute couture business. That I want to design garments whichI can see on ordinary women as they walk down the street. Clothes which are well made but don’t cost a fortune.

“I’m just glad that we got everything sorted out before Papa discovered I was planning to leave,” replied Camille.

She’d left her family. Left her country. Left her old life behind.

The previous October, on the eve of her twenty seventh birthday, Camille had come to an important realization. Her life was not her own. And if she remained working for her father, it never would be. Two months later, the plan to leave France and strike out on her own had been hatched over drinks with Bryce at Christmas.

And now here I am. In the Big Apple.

She had her working visa, a new line of business credit, and for the time being somewhere to live. Bryce, who’d be heading back to his job in London as CEO of Royal Resorts Europe, in a day or two, had not only put up the venture capital for her new business, but he’d also kindly offered Camille the use of his luxury apartment for as long as she needed it.

So why do I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a very tall cliff about to tumble over?

All the advantages of being a member of a family of billionaires were hers. She had been born into a world of privilege that few other people would ever experience. But even her fortunate life had been found wanting. She was determined to break free, and shape her own path forward.

New York City was a long way from Paris. From home. From everything she’d ever known. She was more than a little afraid of the future, but unwavering in her efforts not to show it.

I won’t cry. I swore I wouldn’t. I am brave. I am strong.

She stirred from her thoughts as Bryce dropped onto the lush, soft carpet next to her, clad in jeans and a t-shirt. He tookone look at Camille, then gave her long blonde hair a teasing ruffle.

“Cheer up cuz. As we say here in the good old US of A, you’ve gone and ripped the band aid off. It’s going to sting for some time, but I promise I will do my best to make sure you don’t bleed.”

Camille’s brows furrowed. Her English was near perfect, but the odd idioms which the native language speakers sometimes used left her wondering. She was tempted to pick up her cell and google whatripping off the band aidmeant,but that would mean taking her phone off airplane mode, so she resisted.

“A band aid is what we call a sticky plaster or a pansement here in America. You know what it’s like when you just tear one off a wound after a few days. It hurts but you do tend to heal faster.”

I’m not so sure that my father would agree with Bryce about the healing bit, but it’s all too late now.

She topped up Bryce’s wine glass, and handed it to him. “This day has been the longest day of my life. I don’t know how to thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, Bryce. Merci seems such a small word.”

He raised his glass to her in salute. “We are family, so a simple thank you is always enough. Though if you decide to publicly thank me when your clothes are being worn by the headliners at the Met Gala in a couple of years, I won’t complain.”

The first smile of the day finally made its way to her lips. That sort of success could be many years away, if ever, so Camille simply offered, “How about I design your wife’s wedding gown when you finally find a woman to share your life with.”

Bryce’s easy grin faltered. Her cousin had had a girlfriend when he’d first moved from New York to London, but the long distance relationship hadn’t survived his first year in the UK. Asfar as Camille knew Bryce had then put his love life on the back burner, and focused solely on his career.

“Yes, well marriage seems a long way off for me, Cam. I’m not planning on looking for any sort of serious relationship until I return permanently to the United States. I simply don’t have time.”

Her cousin never did things by half. Whatever it was in his life, Bryce was all in. Business. Family. Sport. Relationships. He was the sort of success story the rest of the international Royal family always talked about.

While there’s every chance, I’ll be spoken about in whispers at this year’s Christmas family gathering on the island. A cautionary tale of what happens when you can’t control your children.

The fact that Christmas was still some eight months away was little comfort. François Royal was a man more than comfortable with carrying a grudge.

She was twenty seven years old, but anyone under the age of forty in her extended family was still considered a child. Still incapable of making sensible life decisions.

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